The Spectre: I will be there for you

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The end of the world is evident. The last few surviving bastions of humanity are eviscerated. You stay crouched, hidden from view in the darkness hoping the lurking other worldly creatures don't catch sight of you.

Their silhouettes are clear as your sight has adjusted to the darkest of night. You see them moving with extraordinary swiftness and stealth;  ravaging, ransacking, rampaging through the halls. An occasion grunt is all that breaks the melancholy of the silent night.

A blood curdling scream resounds through the roof and ricochets into the darkness as if ripping the veil of stillness, so shockingly horrific is it that you have to clasp your mouth tightly to avoid following with your own. You  wonder in morbid irony is this the scream of a man or monster?

They have found their next prey. If just for a moment, their attention is drawn away from you and you are safe, for now.

Your heart is pulsating vehemently; you feel fear's grasp strung across, tightening as you struggle, as if their talons pierce your neck instead of their unlucky victim, quashing a shriek you want to give out.

But the threat of facing imminent death still isn't enough to dull your comprehension and you realize that a life-drained stillness exists over the hall. All the people you knew are... gone.

Your mind is clogged with the memories of the past - happy ones as you imagine their smiles. Those moments held dear in your heart now torture you as you feel their sting painfully close.

The sudden clouding in eyesight makes you realize that a tear has found its way across. You have never cried like this, in complete silence. You have never felt like this. So helpless. Desperate.

Nothing comes to you. You wade across the sea of nothingness that your mind has become, numbed by trauma.

You stare across an empty patch on the wall which has suffered the least scarring. Your gaze seems deep, almost penetrating, but at what? It looks like fanatic infatuation to an empty patch on the wall, unscathed by blood; but in reality you had rather forsake your memories then move, paralysed by dread.

And then you remember it...

A memory drudgingly rediscovered; words that seek roots so deep that overturn and revolts your core. You are wildly shaken; a trance like state it seems has suddenly passed as you come to your senses.

Only you know what made you snap back.

From somewhere a deep resolve strengthens from within and a realization dawns over you -

The dead cannot be brought back by grieving. But what you can do is honour their memories by carrying their legacy forth – preserving the essence of humanity and preventing extinction of mankind.

You look defiant, rash, unyielding - against your destiny, and for the first time a renewed hope grows inside you.

With this new influx of strength your gaze steadies and breath calms down as your heart eases pounding gradually.

There's a long road to travel. But first you have to survive

Your senses have shifted back to reality.

You stand alone in the midst of death, swarmed by enemies.

From a distance you hear the sound of flesh ripping, the sickening noise of fangs gnawing and scraping greedily at flesh, their impatient growls as the hard stuck tendons resist, and then the sound of bones crunching under formidable jaws, as wit gives way to voracity and a satisfied groan of some creature not of this world.

Your resolve is weakening.

What do you do? What CAN you do all by yourself?

Do you feel weak? Why are you weak?

You ask yourself questions poised in flashes.

Do you feel lonely?

And then it echoes from behind… A whisper in the chaos of the past  (a song of bonds...)

For when the times are long gone

And gods have already forsaken

I will be there standing still, perhaps steadying a limp

Maybe just a faded shadow, an easily overlooked flicker in the dark

Leaning past the corners long forgotten,

At the end of bygone alleys, stranded

Barely holding together sanity, just surviving;

But you will remember the voice when I speak

And see a gleam in the shadow when you turn;

Maybe enough to put at ease, that quiver

Irked by every hallway echoing with howls of the dead;

At the beginning of a start

Not expecting much, just enough

 Half a movement of lips wrinkled by dehydration

To be called but a faintest of smiles

On the dusty face barraged with sorrows

But hold there tight, dear friend..

For I will be there for you.


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I would appreciate any feedback and positive criticism.

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